


She said I have a dirty mouth

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Background Zayn/Perrie, Consensual Infidelity, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Hair Pulling, Oral Sex, Rule 63, background OT5, cisgirl!direction, cunt: not an insult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry loves LA, her band, and how a skirt gives her easy access to Zayn's pussy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She said I have a dirty mouth

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know any of the people whose names or public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened. 
> 
> thank you so much to lately for helping fix up my wonky sentences and find errant words. any remaining mistakes are mine.

Harry knows she’s not the only one who loves LA, but she feels like she loves it best out of all the other girls. Not that she doesn’t find something to enjoy about everywhere they go, but she’s a much smaller fish in a much bigger pond here, which means she can go out and mingle without being completely mobbed. Sure, she’s still _Harry Styles, Out-And-Proud Bisexual Pop Star (19)_ and regular in the tabloids’ hot one hundred, but she’s not driving drunk or snorting coke off her manager’s daughter’s tits, so in LA there are often ninety-nine stories the papers want more than hers. Out here, the big bucks aren’t in yet another picture of Harry sharing her Jamba Juice with her make-up artist’s two-year-old, not when Selena Gomez is rumored to be trying on literal million-dollar wedding dresses in a Rodeo Drive boutique. 

The others prefer to find things to do where they’re actually hidden away no matter what city they’re visiting, but Harry likes that she can go out on the town here and still blend in. Today, Zayn, Louis, and Liam are spending the afternoon at their favourite tattoo parlour that’s willing to close to everyone else when they’re in town. Niall is going to the other extreme of hiding and has talked a few of the security team into taking her and her friend Laura, who’s out visiting from London, to Disneyland in ridiculous Halloween wigs, giant sunglasses, and faux pregnancy bellies that actually look really good on them. Harry’s splitting the difference and going shopping.  
   
She had Louise set her hair in rollers after their morning by the pool so it’s a riot of curls down her back, and she’s got on her favourite pair of skinny jeans, the cowboy boots she got last time they played Houston, and a t-shirt with the arms cut off that might once have belonged to Louise’s husband Tom, though who can even tell whose clothes are whose anymore. Last time she went out like this in LA, the papers dubbed her “the smiling KStew”, and it’s not a comparison she’s going to complain about. She would absolutely fuck Kristen if the opportunity arose. She wonders if there’s any way she could wrangle an invite to a party Kristen might be going to.  
   
She also wonders if Perrie would extend the “you can get off with the other girls in your band” rule she has with Zayn to threesomes with actresses. It would be pretty hot if Zayn would fuck Harry while Harry went down on Kristen Stewart.  
   
“Harry,” Louise hisses, poking her in the ribs where they’re accessible through the cut-off bit of her shirt, jerking her mind back to the corner where they’re waiting to cross the street. “You’re staring at that man like you’re going to eat him alive, and I’m pretty sure he’d take you up on it.” Harry hadn’t even noticed any men, too lost in her hot threesome fantasies.  
   
“Sorry,” she mutters, shooting a half-apologetic glare at the man who, just as Louise said, is looking like his ship has come in.  
   
“Just so long as you don’t try to tell me about whatever filth you’re mulling over in that head of yours. I’m still scarred by you and Ni trying to one-up each other with sexcapade stories while we were doing shots the other night.”  
   
“You love it,” Harry says, but it’s true that she and Niall can get out of hand when they’re drinking Jaegermeister. Though Ni has admitted she’s not done half the kinkier stuff she tells Louise about; she just likes her shocked face. Louise rolls her eyes and jabs at the walk button again.  
   
“Won’t make it change any faster,” Ron, the security guard who pulled their detail today, says. But he’s wrong, because it changes as soon as Louise pulls her finger off the button, and they finally get to go into the vintage store Harry’s been dying to dig through since they arrived in LA three days ago.  
   
   
After three hours of browsing, Harry ends up with a 70s looking blue-and-white baseball shirt with a giant eagle iron-on decorating the front for Niall, and a red satin bowling shirt for Lou that the girl in the shop promises is from the fifties. Louise snorts when she hears that, but Harry ignores her. It looks cool, and Louis will like it whether or not it’s true vintage. For Li Harry finds an amazing hand-tooled leather belt that looks like someone—a talented someone at least—made it at summer camp. It has alternating Superman and Batman symbols and an obscenely huge brass bat buckle. Liam’s going to _love_ it, and if it will get Li into jeans and out of her baggy grey trackies more often, Harry will love it too. The girl’s got a good arse and should show it off more.  
   
Harry’s favourite thing, though, is the knit mini-dress he finds for Zayn. It’s orange and black and straight out of the sixties, and even though Zayn’s absolutely tiny, it’s going to cling perfectly. Assuming Harry can get her to wear it. Zayn’s pretty firmly committed to jeans and trousers, but Harry’s convinced she wears Perrie’s dresses sometimes at home, and Harry wants to see her all dolled up, long legs on display. If Harry sells it as something kinky, Zayn just might go for it. She likes a bit of kink if Harry asks nicely. Or if Harry gets on her knees and begs. Zayn especially likes that.

“She’s not gonna wear it,” Louise opines when Harry tells her who she’s buying it for, “but it’ll look great on you, too, so go for it.” 

“She will,” Harry says, imagining pushing it up over Zayn’s hips, tugging down her pants and sucking on her clit. 

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Louise complains. 

“What?” Harry asks, plastering the most innocent look she can muster on her face. From Louise’s eyeroll, it’s not very successful. 

“Fritz tried to tell me that the advantage of hiring on with a girl band is you’d have less sex than boy bands do. That was a lie.”

“Sexist, too,” Harry points out. “And kind of slut shamey. Who is Fritz? He needs a talking to.” Harry gets awfully tired of people thinking they can have opinions on how much sex she’s having and with whom. It’s one of the nice things about her arrangement with Zayn. Harry’s bandmates are just about the only people she can go out with without it being assumed they’re shagging. Irony being Harry’s at least 80% more likely to be shagging one of them than any of the people she’s papped with, but what the papers don’t know won’t hurt anyone.

“Fritz is older than my granddad, gay as a goose—his words, not mine—and I would pay a tidy sum to see you try to give him a talking to.”

Harry still would if the opportunity arose, but now that Louise says, Harry remembers meeting Fritz at a party last year, and octogenarian theater queens aren’t her top priority converts to the cause of sexual liberation for almost-twenty-year-old girls. “Fine,” Harry says, setting her purchases on the counter. “But I hope you didn’t believe him.” 

Louise barks an incredulous laugh. “Not for a second. I saw you lot on X-Factor. I knew what I was getting myself in for.” 

 

Though Niall and Laura are still at Disneyland, the other girls are back from the tattoo parlor and hanging out in the lounge of their rental house by the time Harry and Louise return from their travels, so Harry hands out her presents. Liam is chuffed to bits with her belt, and puts it on immediately, then runs around making everyone look at it. Harry can’t stop grinning, even when, after Liam shows her the belt for the third time and almost pokes her in the eye with the buckle in her enthusiasm, Lou tells Harry she’s banned from buying any of them gifts ever again. Lou is happy with her bowling shirt though, and gives Harry a smacking kiss on the cheek and a squeeze in thanks. Zayn is skeptical about her dress as predicted. 

“It’s a dress,” she points out, holding it up and looking at it critically. “I mean, thank you, but since when do I wear dresses?” 

“There’s that one of Pezza’s you—“ Lou starts, but stops when Zayn shoots her a quelling look. Harry’s jealous sometimes of how Lou will listen to Zayn when she won’t listen to any of the rest of them. 

“Ha!” Harry says. “I knew it.” Zayn turns her glare on Harry. “If you don’t want to wear it,” Harry says quickly, “you can give it to Pez. Or I’ll wear it. Just thought it would look good on you, and I wanted to see it.” She tries to give Zayn a subtly suggestive look that indicates she’d like to see it on her in her room later, without tipping Lou and Li off that’s what she’s saying. That’s their band rule. Any of them can get off with anyone else, so long as the people not getting laid don’t have to hear about it. 

“Dresses are easy access, Zaney,” Lou says slyly, and Liam giggles. 

Subtle is really not Harry’s strong suit. 

“Oh,” Zayn says, arching her eyebrows at Harry. “I _see_.” She shoots a glare at Lou. “And don’t call me th—” 

“Ugh,” Louise interrupts. “We all see. Now, instead, let me see what new ink you all got. Paul just ordered dinner. Ni’ll be back soon.” 

Zayn shows them the SALUTE she’s added in a military stencil font to the sleeve on her right arm in honor of her girlfriend’s band’s next album, Lou the Vans logo on her shoulder, and then Liam takes off her shirt to show them the outline and shading of the Betty Boop Zayn drew for her that she’s getting inked on her ribs. It looks amazing, and it’s in the perfect place to show off in the handkerchief tops she’s taken to wearing on stage since they brought a personal trainer on board to tour with them. 

They’re all still admiring it when Niall comes in, hair all sweated to her head from the wig, shirt all stretched out from the pregnancy belly. “You’ve got to go to Disney with a bun in the oven, she declares. No one recognised us _at all_. And we got to jump the queue in the loos. Brilliant!”

“That’s evil, faking pregnancy to jump queues,” Harry says. 

“Told you it’d be Harry who didn’t think that was funny,” Niall says, grinning over Harry’s shoulder at Laura, who’s just come through the doorway. 

“And I agreed,” she says. “It’s not a bet if you both bet on the same thing.” 

Niall nudges Harry’s shoulder. “We didn’t really, Haz. Don’t worry.” 

From the other girls, Harry wouldn’t believe the retraction for a second, but Niall’s earnest enough it could be true. “Okay, then,” Harry says. “I suppose I can give you your present.” 

“Yay!” Niall jumps on her and rubs sweat on her neck. “Gimme!” 

When she sees the shirt she gets even more excited, and insists on showering immediately so she doesn’t get it all sweaty trying it on. “Food’s on the way,” Louis says. “Paul ordered it at least twenty minutes ago.” 

“I’ll be super fast,” Niall says, stripping off on her way to the stairs. True to her word, she’s back before the food gets there. She looks great in the shirt, the collar scooping down enough to show off the pinkly sunburned tops of her breasts, and the Eagle looking even fiercer with its wings stretched across the swell of them. Harry loves her own tits, and she’s certainly never had any complaints that they’re too small, but sometimes she just wants to get all up in Niall’s much bigger ones. Fortunately, Niall likes having her tits sucked as much as Harry likes sucking them.

“You have excellent taste, Hazzle,” Liam says, running a hand down Niall’s side where her waist dips in before flaring out over her hips encased in denim shorts. “I see why you like shopping. I can never find anything good.” 

“Sure you can, Li,” Lou says. “You just keep going to the same shops all the time.” 

“Food!” Paul bellows from the front hall, and they push and shove like puppies trying to get to the kitchen table, Louise and Laura trailing behind. Harry’s pretty sure they’re laughing at them, but she doesn’t care. Her band is the _best_.

 

After dinner, Laura and Niall convince the rest of them to go out clubbing. Paul arranges for a car and some extra security while the rest of them head to change. Harry sees Zayn take the new dress into her room, but doesn’t have much hope she’ll wear it out. It inspires Harry, though, and she puts on a red dress that shows off her back and flatters her boobs and is swingy over her hips. It makes her feel flirty, and looks perfect with the new, silver platform sandals she hasn’t had a chance to wear yet. 

“Where’s my eyeliner,” Liam shouts from next door, then, when no one answers, “Lou, did you steal it again?”

“Why would I steal your eyeliner?” Louis shouts back. “You wear that pencil stuff. Liquid is where it’s at.” Louise walks past Harry’s half-open door, going to intervene.

“I’ll do your makeup, Li,” she says. “I’m all ready.”

Liam murmurs something Harry can’t hear, and Harry puts the finishing touches on her own eyes, adding a splash of colour to the makeup she’d worn out shopping. 

Harry comes out of her room just as Zayn’s shutting the door of hers across the hall. She looks _amazing_. Zayn’s got the dress on, paired with black chunky-heeled boots Harry’s pretty sure she saw on Laura the day she arrived, and a choker with a delicate chain dangle that drops right down between Zayn’s breasts. Her smooth, bare legs stretching from the tops of her boots to the hem of her dress are stunning, and Harry wants to eat her right now, bugger dancing. It must show on her face, because Zayn holds a hand out like a cop stopping traffic. 

“No fucking up my lipstick before we even get there. I worked hard on it.” She did, too. It’s a deep coppery red that goes perfectly with the dress, and is fantastic with Zayn’s characteristic smokey-eye look she wears on stage and for evening outings. 

“Those aren’t the lips I wanted to kiss,” Harry says. 

Zayn is going to break something if she keeps rolling her eyes like that.

“No being disgusting outside my room,” Niall calls. 

“Later,” Zayn says softly. With a glance at Niall’s door, she fists a hand in the wild tangle of Harry’s hair, held off her face with a wide scarf. It’s all Harry can do not to drop to her knees right there. 

“Tease,” she mutters. 

“Just giving you something to look forward to,” Zayn says before banging the flat of her hand on Niall’s door. “Come on, then, you two. You’re the ones who wanted to go dancing.” 

“Coming,” Niall calls over the sound of Laura giggling. 

“Coming,” Louis mocks from just over Zayn’s shoulder where she’s snuck up on them. “C’mon, Li, you too. Lou’s good, but she can’t make you more beautiful than you actually are.”

“I can make you uglier, though,” Louise says, wagging one crimson-tipped finger as she comes out of Liam’s room, Li trailing behind her, loose blue spaghetti-strap top covering her new tattoo and tucked into skinny black jeans belted with the belt Harry bought her. The belt’s style definitely would better suit a t-shirt or a vest, but Li makes it work. 

“You look amazing, Li,” Zayn says. 

“I look amazing, too,” Louis protests. And she’s not wrong. She’s wearing her hair lose around her shoulders, flat-ironed straight around her face and kicking out a little at the back like she got bored before she was done. Which, knowing Louis, she probably did. The scoop neck of her t-shirt shows off her impressive cleavage, and the hem stops a good four or five centimetres above the waist of her jeans which curve tight over the swell of her arse then drop straight down to her strappy sandals. Her eyeliner is winged to perfection. Harry will never understand how she does it. If Harry wants wings, she puts Louise in charge. 

“You look amazing, too,” Harry says, nuzzling Louis’ cheek with her nose, because she doesn’t want to leave her lipstick there. 

Niall and Laura burst out the door to Niall’s room, Laura in black leggings and boots and a tailored blazer, and Niall in one of Liam’s handkerchief tops and a sequined miniskirt Harry’s never seen before. Harry wonders what the chances are of getting her hands on the contents of Laura’s suitcase before the week is out. She’s clearly got good stuff in there. “Everyone looks amazing,” Laura says, throwing the arm not escorting Niall around Louise’s waist. “Let’s go!”

 

They usually take an SUV to get from point A to point B in whatever city they’re in, but in LA, the car service often sends limos if Paul forgets to specify. They pile into the one that arrives, Paul up front with the driver, but Ron and Roger with them, sitting by the door. Harry takes advantage of the tight fit, practically sitting on Zayn’s lap, groping her near thigh under cover of Harry’s skirt. “You’re not subtle,” Louise, squeezed into the corner on Zayn’s other side, points out. 

“When is Hazza ever subtle?” Zayn says, low, but she spreads her legs just a fraction so Harry can brush her fingertips against the extra-soft skin on the inside of her thighs. 

“Sometimes you don’t even notice she’s behind you, and she’s stealing the last grape out of your fruit salad,” Liam says. 

“Or you think the bathroom’s empty and you go in and start pulling your pants down before you realize Harry’s in there toweling off with the door open again,” Louise adds. 

“See?” Harry says, leaning in to nibble Zayn’s ear right above her earring. “I’m totally subtle.” 

“You’re trouble, is what you are.” With finger and thumb around Harry’s wrist, Zayn lifts Harry’s hand out from between her legs and deposits it on Harry’s lap. “Later,” she says again, and puts her hand on Harry’s, lacing their fingers together. Harry’s torn between wishing they’d stayed behind and let the others go out without them, and enjoying the tease. Though mostly she’s enjoying the tease, because Zayn is always worth the wait.

 

The club is crowded and trendy and they’re whisked right past the bouncers into VIP. Lots of places won’t let them in at all, but places like this run on publicity, and as long as none of them try to buy drinks, there seems to be some kind of exception for celebrities. Louise, Lou and Laura get their hands stamped and can order whatever they want, and bring it back to their table. It looks like theirs isn’t the only one that’s sharing out the alcohol. Not that Harry’s there to drink, anyway. The music’s good, they all look hot as fuck, and if she can’t get her tongue in Zayn’s pussy, she wants to dance. 

“C’mon,” she says, starting with Niall, because Niall’s always game for anything, and this was hers and Laura’s idea besides. “Dance with me.” 

“Don’t let her fall off those shoes,” Louis says, eyeing Harry’s five-inch heel and three-inch platform. 

“As if I would,” Niall says, and grabs Harry’s hand to lead her out to the dance floor.

They dance to three or four songs before the others come out and join them, Liam first, then Louise and Laura who sandwich Niall between them, and Lou and Zayn last, heads bent together as they walk out on the dance floor as though they have no intention of stopping their conversation just because everyone around them is shaking their wild thing. But as they get close they break apart, and Lou nudges Li until she turns enough Lou can back her arse up onto Li’s hips, and Zayn wraps her arms around Harry’s neck, gives her a look, like Harry better make this dancing business worth her while. Harry can do that. 

Except just then one of their songs comes on, and Harry starts laughing and can’t stop. Zayn’s a good friend, and she stays put for Harry to hang on to so she doesn’t fulfill Lou’s prophesy and fall off her shoes. Even with her grip on Zayn’s waist, it’s a close thing, though, because Niall, Lou and Liam line up and start doing _paddle-the-canoe_ , _rockette-rockette_ , like they do in their stage show, and Zayn looks horrified, Laura bemused, and Louise like she’s been saddled with a bunch of idiots and she doesn’t know why she puts up with them. They’re garnering some looks from the other VIP dancers, but no one is un-cool enough to say anything. Harry really does love LA. And her band. 

“That wasn’t embarrassing at all,” Zayn whisper-shouts in Harry’s ear when their track is replaced by Ke$ha’s latest. Harry gets both hands on Zayn’s arse and pulls her close. 

“That was amazing is what it was,” Harry whisper-shouts back. Zayn pulls back far enough to shoot Harry an incredulous look, but then she gives in to Harry’s enthusiasm and gets her own hands on Harry’s arse, slotting them together so the heat of Harry’s cunt is riding her hipbone. “You’re amazing,” Harry adds, grinding just _so_ on Zayn’s hip. 

“Tart,” Zayn retorts, grinding back. 

The music is perfect for a bit of dirty dancing, so by the time the song’s over, Harry’s horny as fuck and tempted to drag Zayn to the toilets, or at least go herself and have a wank. But Zayn catches her, and mouths, “Later,” at her as she pulls Harry’s hands off her arse and laces their fingers together, pushing Harry out in a twirl. And fine. _Fine_. Harry can do this. Jesus, Zayn’s hot in that dress, though. Later can’t come soon enough.

 

Zayn keeps the tease up all night, on the dance floor, in the booth, and in the car, so Harry’s almost ready to come without so much as a finger on her clit by the time they get upstairs. “Mine or yours?” Zayn asks. Harry doesn’t even answer, just pushes her into her own room. Harry shares a wall with Liam, but the en suites are between Zayn’s room and Niall’s. She doesn’t want to have to worry about keeping quiet.

“Mine then,” Zayn says, laughing a bit as Harry scrabbles for the switch to turn the light on. Not much point in getting Zayn all dressed up and only being able to see her in shadowy glimpses. “Hey,” Zayn says, half greeting, half question. They usually do this in the glow of whatever city they’re in, filtered through a hotel window. The LA hills are no brighter than a cow field behind a country house at midnight, though. 

“You’re gorgeous. Wanna see you,” Harry says. “The club was all dark.”

“Weirdo,” Zayn replies. Because she’s the weirdo, who, after three years of topping hottest-women lists both sides of the Atlantic, still hasn’t learned how to take a compliment. 

“That’s why you like me,” Harry says. “C’mere.” 

Zayn comes as she’s told, and then keeps coming, until she’s got Harry backed up against the door. “Like this?” she asks, kissing Harry’s cheek right where her dimple appears when she grins. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. She’s still desperate to get down on her knees, but she’ll take this first. Even better if Zayn would—

Like she can read Harry’s mind, Zayn pushes closer, slotting her thigh between Harry’s legs, burying both hands in her hair, tilting her head where she wants it. “Or like this,” she says, low, and kisses Harry on the mouth. 

Their first ever snog had been awkward, a drunken mess with Harry trying to kiss her like all the boys she’d snogged in school, fast and hard and lots of tongue, trying to get as much as she could before Zayn told her she wasn’t into girls like that. But Zayn _was_ into girls like that, and had learned from better kissers besides, and the next time it went better. Now, it makes Harry’s knees melt. 

Zayn knows Harry’s easy for having her hair pulled, for being pinned somewhere—anywhere: wall, bed, floor, bench seat of a van—hair held fast, mouth kissed teasingly slow and sweet. Zayn knows how to use her slight weight, make herself seem taller, broader, heavier than Harry is, make Harry feel at her mercy. 

She does it now, hips keeping Harry from getting quite enough friction against Zayn’s thigh, forearms pinning Harry’s shoulders as she nibbles softly at Harry’s lips. Sometimes she’ll hold Harry’s wrists, but not tonight; Harry’s hands are free to grope as much as she wants.

The fabric of Zayn’s dress is nubby under Harry’s palms; the knit that looks sleek over Zayn’s curves is pleasingly not up close. Harry skates down Zayn’s back to her arse, gives it a squeeze, tugs her so the knit-covered angle of hip and thigh is right on Harry’s clit through the thin drape of her skirt and the barely there lace of her pants. After an evening of Zayn’s thighs and Zayn’s hands and her little smile that only looks shy if you don’t know her, Harry can definitely get off like this. It won’t be the most spectacular orgasm of her life or anything, but enough to take the edge off, and Harry really wants to take the edge off. 

Straining against the perfect grip Zayn has on her hair, Harry sucks Zayn’s tongue and grinds against her, fingers flexing on her arse, thinking about how in just a minute she’s gonna be on her knees, nosing up under Zayn’s skirt, senses flooded with the lush heat of her cunt. 

“God, you’re easy,” Zayn murmurs against Harry’s mouth when Harry jerks, shudders against her. 

Harry finds the breath to say, “You love it.” 

“Yeah.” Zayn makes a pleased noise. “I do.” 

Harry does a happy little wriggle in the cage of Zayn’s arms. “Is it later yet? Need to taste you.” 

“Easy and shameless,” Zayn says, untangling her fingers from Harry’s curls. “And yes, before you say it, I love that too.” With a hot smile, she takes half a step back. “On your knees then, girl.” 

Said knees are still wibbly when Harry stumble-twists away from the door, using her grip on Zayn’s arse to flip her so she’s up against it, shoulders flat to the paint, hips tilted out into Harry’s eager hands. Harry applauds whoever came up with elastic shoe straps as she kicks her heels off on her way down to the floor. As her knees hit the carpet, she also applauds the decorator who chose the thickest underlay. She’s good at ignoring discomfort when she’s giving head, but it’s easier if she doesn’t have to. 

“This what you wanted?” Zayn asks, as Harry slides her fingers under the hem of Zayn’s skirt. 

“Want you to come all over my face,” Harry says, looking up at Zayn’s wide eyes peeking over the swell of her breasts. “Maybe twice.” 

“Twice, eh?” Zayn says with a soft, indulgent laugh at Harry’s bragging, but Harry’s done it before, then fucked her to a third besides, so it’s not an empty boast. 

“Twice,” Harry repeats, pushing Zayn’s skirt to the top of her hips and hooking fingertips into the waist of her pants. Before pulling them down, she presses a kiss to Zayn’s clit through the lace, making her draw a sharp breath in through her nose. “You smell so good,” Harry tells her, then licks where his lips had been. “Taste good, too.”

“So taste me then,” Zayn says a bit breathlessly. 

Never very good at teasing when she’s all post-orgasm buzzy, Harry complies, tugging Zayn’s knickers down to her ankles and getting her mouth all up in Zayn’s cunt while Zayn’s still trying to step out of them. 

She’s wet and slippery already, lips thick and hot against Harry’s mouth and chin, and Harry can’t help whimpering at the feel of her, the knowledge that she got that way pulling Harry’s hair and getting Harry off against her hip. “Yeah,” Zayn breathes. “Fuck.” Harry moans again, low and throaty, her own cunt throbbing like she’s the one being licked. 

“My hair,” Harry says, words muffled, but enough to get Zayn’s hands back in her locks, twisting and pulling, making Harry feel the perfect amount of trapped here. Not that you could pay her to leave now she’s finally got what she’s wanted all night. All day, really, since she first laid eyes on that dress. Her fingers seek it out again, brush against the bunch of fabric trapped at Zayn’s hips by the spread of her thighs. If they were still out, still in the club, Harry could finish her off and just tug it down again, cover up the slick and spit and they could walk back out on the dance floor. Only the two of them would know it was there. Maybe under cover of the table Harry could reach up, dip a finger in the wet left behind, lick it off, pretending it was stray salt from her margarita—

“You with me, Haz?” Zayn asks, pulling Harry off her cunt and looking at her, stern, but with a hint of amusement, too. 

“Easy access,” is all Harry says—she can tell her later what she’s thinking about. Zayn’s good about letting Harry spend the night after, nights they get off together. 

“Get accessing.” Zayn jerks Harry in again, rubbing her cunt over Harry’s face. 

“Yes’m,” Harry mumbles into her heat. Zayn’s not that into being called ‘ma’am’ or ‘mistress’ or anything, but she’s the _best_ at pulling Harry’s hair so it hurts just right and keeps Harry where she wants her.

Where she wants her right now is down low, her whole cunt in Harry’s mouth, filling it up with the taste of her, making her work to get her tongue between the folds, tipping Harry’s head back so she can ride her face. “Suck it,” she says, and Harry knows that means hard, to get as much in her mouth as she can, inner lips and outer, her clit—but don’t let the tip scrape the sharp edges of her teeth—make like she’s trying to give Zayn’s pussy a giant love bite. They all went to the spa three days ago and there’s no hairs prickling Harry’s lips, just the thatch of pubes Zayn keeps on her mons tickling Harry’s nose, making her want to sneeze. Zayn’s not about to let her go, though, so Harry fights it, sucks harder. 

The nice thing about doing this with Zayn standing is easy access to her backside. Harry takes advantage, reaching around to rub where her chin doesn’t quite reach, between Zayn’s legs and over her hole, the crease where her cheeks meet her thighs. She gets a breathy moan for her troubles. It’s a ‘feels good’ moan, not an ‘almost there’ one, so Harry rubs more, sucks harder, tries to lick up inside. 

“Fucking shhh,” Zayn gasps, belly jerking, arse clenching under Harry’s hands. “Clit, clit, clit.” She yanks Harry off and drags her back before Harry’s hardly had time to suck in a breath, so Harry rubs at Zayn’s clit with her lips while she gets her hands around to hold her open, exposed, to lick the way Zayn likes it. 

Thumbs either side of Zayn’s clit, pushing it up against the bone, Harry licks it hard and slow with the flat of her tongue, and again, then flicks it with the tip when Zayn whimpers. The soft give of the hood feels smooth until she exposes the slick hard nub of the clit itself, which is so much smoother there’s no comparison. Harry doesn’t like having her actual clit touched—it’s too much—but Zayn can take it, likes it, though it makes her jerk and jump if Harry licks it too long. 

The secret is a soft flickering lick just until she hears a high flat whine in the back of Zayn’s throat, then a bit of suction, using her lips to rub hard at the base of Zayn’s clit, stroking Zayn’s thighs with the backs of her fingers. It’s harder to tell when Zayn wants the flickering back. There might be a hair pull or a slight lessening in the tension of Zayn’s thighs, but mostly it’s guess work, because Zayn gets less talkative the more turned on she is. Harry’s good at guessing, though, flicking and sucking until her lips and thumbs are numb and Zayn’s making desperate noises against the back of her teeth. 

That’s when she wants Harry’s fingers. Three, maybe even four of them at once, in hard, up to the widest part of Harry’s hand, fingers curled forward to hit her g-spot. She doesn’t like to be fucked, just full, hand rocking _just so_ , like Harry’s beckoning her that fraction closer to her tongue. 

It’s hard work, especially when she’s on her knees like this, but Harry loves it. Every ache makes Zayn’s noises and gasps and twitches sweeter, and in the moments before Zayn’s coming, Harry wishes it would last forever. It doesn’t, of course, can’t, and with a sharp twist to Harry’s hair that brings tears to blur her vision, Zayn comes with a cry, and muscles clenching so tight around her fingers, Harry’s not sure she’ll ever have use of them again. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck,” Zayn says, pushing Harry back with a hand limp on her forehead. “Fuck,” she repeats, reaching for Harry’s wrist between her thighs. 

“Breathe, babe. Breathe for me.” Harry would love to keep fucking her, work her between fingers curled deep and a thumb on her clit, but that’s a bit much to ask while Zayn’s still standing, in three-inch heels besides. Harry’s hand is stuck, though, and Zayn’s gonna have to relax a bit for her to slide out. 

“Nnng,” Zayn says. 

“C’mon, babe.” Harry keeps the hand in Zayn’s cunt as still as she can and smooths the other one up over her hip. Like that was the secret lock, Zayn gives enough Harry can twist her hand free. 

“Nnng,” Zayn says again, but this time with a soppy smile. 

“Bed or shower?” Harry asks, stretching out one leg then the other behind her before attempting to get to her feet. She manages to use Zayn’s waist to help pull herself up without dragging Zayn down onto the floor, and gives her a kiss. 

“Mmmm,” Zayn answers. 

“Sounds like bed.” Bed works for Harry. She likes waking up with sex on her skin. 

Leaving Zayn propped against the wall looking glazed and happy, Harry strips off her dress and pants, then bends down to unzip Zayn’s boots and help her out of them. 

“You really are good on your knees, Haz,” Zayn murmurs. It’s a long-running joke with all of them, as Harry’s prone to kneeling with the slightest provocation, on stage, on the bus, any time she thinks folded hands and an imploring look might get her what she wants, but Zayn’s not saying it like a joke now. She says it like she means it. It makes Harry flush and feel warm and grinny. 

“Damn right,” she says, because they love each other to the ends of the earth and back, but sex isn’t about getting all sappy and emotional with them. 

Zayn smiles like she knows Harry means thanks. “Help me get this dress off,” she says, holding her arms out. 

“Looks amazing on you,” Harry says as she reaches for the skirt bunched around Zayn’s waist. “Thanks for wearing it.” 

“Thanks for the present.” Zayn disappears in the fabric for a moment, then comes out the other side, hair a little wilder, eyes a little brighter. “And the orgasm.” 

“Any time, babe.” Harry drapes the dress over the back of a chair and reaches over Zayn’s shoulder to flick the light off. “Any time.” 

Zayn laughs. “Give me three minutes.”

“I’ll give you two,” Harry says, and tackles her onto the bed. 

 

~fin


End file.
